A Posthumus Gentelman's Guide to Surviving Purgatory
by Smilindolfin
Summary: Or rather: Beckett's Guide on How NOT to Behave in Purgatory: What if James didn't go to the Locker when he died, but instead was forced to exist in limbo in the dreaded purgatory? And what if he wasn't alone? Snark and Sarcasm abound! Just a fun little story inspired by a conversation with a friend! (NO SLASH!)
1. Gentlemen Don't Smile In Purgatory

It wasn't the locker. That was certain, the Admiral thought to himself.

It wasn't much of a relief, but any sort of comfort at the moment was welcome. I mean, honestly, he'd just been stabbed through the stomach by the father of the fiancé of the woman he loved – who, by the way, was probably criminally insane. (The father, that is. James would never be so cruel as to slander Elizabeth.)

Well, no matter how you looked at it, Admiral Norrington's method of demise was distinctly unhappy.

Now, here he stood, still in his coat, looking about the place where he'd awoken –thankfully sans the rusty spear through his gut. With a quick, critical glance, James determined he wasn't in the locker, nor did he believe that he stood in Heaven –there hadn't been any sort of judgment yet –and it was really too mild of a climate to be Hell.

"Purgatory," he bit out with a scowl.

The place seemed to be some sort of island. It was mostly black rock and greyish, gritty sand. It had already begun settling inside Norrington's shoes when he shifted his feet. There was a volcano with a patch of mist gathering around its base toward what James assumed to be the south. He could only hope the jagged mountain was dormant. He highly doubted it, though His luck didn't exactly lead him to expect a kindly dormant volcano in Purgatory.

James' scowl deepened as he felt his stomach give out a growl of hunger. "Of course one still needs to eat. Once a man is dead he certainly should still need to sustain the non-existent functions of his corpse. Perfectly logical."

"Oh, don't be such a fusspot, Norrington. You can't have everything," a voice drawled out of the mist that had coagulated on the rough plains of the desolate island.

James spun on his heel reaching for his sword, which, of course, was no longer in its customary place at his side. "What hellish apparition are you?! Name yourself!" he demanded, hiding his true terror behind his booming 'command' voice.

A smaller stocky figure appeared from the mist. "I believe my mother was the last to use that _particular_ adjective. I do hope this isn't some newly invented horror for me. My mother's personality in your ghastly bean-pole like body," Beckett stopped before the Admiral with a bold expression on his cold face.

"Lord Beckett?" James couldn't help but scowl. This was one man he had hoped never to set eyes on again.

"That selfsame "hellish apparition" at your service," the former lord gave a mocking bow.

"I see your grand scheme failed. How does that feel, Beckett?" James quipped, quite in the mood for a little retribution.

Beckett sniffed, looking in the opposite direction. "I wouldn't know."

James snorted. "Oh, my mistake. Death was part of your plan, then? How silly of me to think otherwise. What – do you intend to rule the world from purgatory?"

The admiral's words were met with silence, which only increased his mirth. If he was to suffer here on this dreadful little island, he certainly wouldn't do so quietly. He was stick to death –no pun intended –of keeping his mind to himself.

"Coincidentally, how _did_ you die? What with the fleet, the Dutchman, the soldiers, how did you manage death with the cards stacked so nicely in your favor?"

Beckett looked thunderous. "I might ask you the same! You, with your new position in _charge _of the most dangerous ship on the sea! You, being the youngest Admiral ever to sail under the Union Jack, ended up dead at the hands of a psychotic old fish-man. Though, to be honest, once I knew the _whole_ story it wasn't hard to guess what killed you," he sneered. "That dreadful Swann girl has the "kiss of death" they say."

James was flabbergasted. How did the frustrating man know EVERYTING? They kissed in the dark, alone before she left –blast it all! Beckett was the most infuriatingly knowledgeable person he had ever had the misfortune to meet. Aside, perhaps, from his two good friends, Andrew Gillette and Theodore Groves…he hoped desperately that they were still alive. Though he felt ashamed at the small part of him that wished they were here relieve him of some of his suffering.

James clasped his hands behind his back, allowing his emotionless mask to slide into place. He quickly pushed away all thoughts of the living he had left behind. "That doesn't answer my question, Beckett."

"It's _Lord Beckett_, to you!"

James smirked. "Not anymore. You're dead."

Beckett cursed. "I went down with the Endeavor. There was a maelstrom courtesy of the goddess Calypso. I went out with a…bang…you might say."

"The ship's powder magazine exploded." James couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Yes" Beckett's surly expression wasn't to be matched. Certainly James had never seen anything more childish in all his years at sea and to be fair, there had been some dreadfully childish midshipmen under his command.

"And with your tiny little legs you couldn't get yourself over the rail to safety?"

James had never heard quite so much colorful language from a refined gentleman before. He resisted the urge to block his ears and waited for the furious man to calm himself.

"If you must know, I was in shock. I never lose, you know." Beckett seethed. James might have described Beckett's look as murderous, but you can't kill the dead, so it was really more enraged than anything.

"Now, Beckett-

"_Lord!"_

James rolled his eyes. "I believe we should build some sort of shelter."

Beckett narrowed his eyes. He was in no mood to be trifled with. "Has the thin air up there addled your brain, Norrington? There is no _we_. I am going back to build _my_ shelter and you can rot for all I care."

James sighed inwardly. The little man was certainly spiteful in death. What happened to all the "rest in peace" rubbish he'd been told as a child?

"I merely meant, we could be here for some time, and it might prove…beneficial to form an alliance of sorts until we figure out what this Purgatory business is all about. For all we know we could be sharing the island with vagabonds and cutthroats," James reasoned, watching his once-commander out of the corner of his eye.

Beckett puzzled for a moment, calculating the pros and cons, calculating if he would come out the victor should trouble arise. That was Beckett's game. He played to win and no other option was acceptable.

Finally,

"Follow me, then, if you must. But I swear if you eat all of my food I'll put you out like a mutt on the porch." Apparently sitting in a shelter alone with the possibility of the lawless running rampant about the dismal island sounded awfully distasteful.

"You're really going to build a porch in purgatory?"

"Shut up, Norrington."

"Will it have columns too?"

"I believe I just gave you an order, Norrington!"

James didn't even feel the least bit sorry. "I believe I mentioned this earlier, but all forms of rank are abolished with death. So, I can, more or less do and say as I please."

Beckett stopped and turned, angry once more. "And who created this ridiculous rule?"

James smirked. "As men, we are all equal in the presence of death," he quoted.

Beckett cursed again. "I swear to you, Norrington, if you weren't already dead I'd kill you for your insolence."

"I know," James replied with much amusement as he took slow long strides, easily keeping pace with Beckett. "But, think about it! I could have been worse."

"Do enlighten me," Beckett snapped quite at the end of his tether with his smug companion.

"We could have been stuck here with Sparrow."

Silence reigned as the truth of the statement sunk in.

In the privacy of their own minds, both men quickly prayed that Sparrow live, if only to spare their own sanity.

They knew they could bare to suffer the other's company, at least for a time, but if Sparrow was added to the mix? There would certainly be no resting and absolutely no peace.

"You've probably cursed us, you know. He'll die now, just to spite us both," Beckett replied at last, a sour expression on his face.

"He certainly has a penchant for turning up when he's not wanted," James agreed.

"So do you."

"Indeed not! When have I shown up unceremoniously and caused you grief?!" James demanded indignantly.

"You constantly caused me grief. You and your bloody morals. So hard to find men without them these days!" Beckett lamented.

James scoffed. "Morals are not a fault, Beckett."

Beckett glared. "_Lord!"_

"Dead, remember?"

"Bloody Hell, I hate you."

James smirked. "At least we'll always know where we stand with each other. You, of course, half a foot shorter."

"I've had it up to here with your brainless insults-

"Funny," James mouth twitched as he fought not to laugh. "I didn't know you could reach that high."

"**At least do me the honor of insulting me intelligently!"** Beckett talked over James, his icy voice cutting through James' amused drawl.

"As you wish!" James chirped almost cheerily, before picking up the pace. "Come alone we've got a shelter to build."

...

"Don't smile in Purgatory, Norrington. It's rude."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Just a fun, sarcastic, witty little piece about James and Beckett.**

**My friend and I were discussing the 5th movie and how James is rumored to return and she mentioned that Beckett should come back too! So, we discussed how the two would behave together in the land of the dead and this happened! She's recovering from some surgery so this is to help cheer her up! :D**

**Hope you all enjoyed! ^_^ **


	2. Neither Do They Laugh

James stepped back and admired his handiwork. It had taken what he estimated to be several days of hard labor, but he had finally finished their ramshackle shelter. It certainly wasn't the quality of Fort Charles, but it was definitely a step up from sleeping on the hard, bristle-like grass or worse, the stone grey sand.

After much discussion, Beckett had agreed that this was the best place to build. They'd made a circuit of the island and scoped out the area from a tall tree. It was a desolate place, indeed.

The entirety of the island was surrounded by jagged black stones, which looked like leftover rubble from the last eruption. No ships could hope to get close. That is, if there _were_ any ships in Purgatory to begin with.

More depressing was the island itself. It was either black from cooled lava, or covered in the dreadful gritty grey sand.

"It brings to mind the rubble from the diamond mines in the Indies. We would find this type of dirt in every bloody possible place while we were stationed there. Especially if a mine collapsed, then it would be in the air too," Beckett had mused as he'd emptied out his boot for the third time.

"You think this used to be a mining island?" James knew that Beckett was as aware as he was of their dead status, but it helped to humanize things a little. Purgatory versus an abandoned mining island? –well there really wasn't any question which was the saner of the two.

Beckett leveled his piercing grey eyes at the former Admiral. "I would have, yes. But the 'sand' extends as far out into the ocean as one can see. Even past the rocks."

James nodded ignoring the demeaning look from his diminutive companion. "Well, you climb up first, then, and test it out," he pointed up to their shelter which sat nestled in a sturdy yet quite unquestionably dead tree.

Beckett fixed James with a glare. "I will not! You built the blasted thing, besides you're twice my size and weight-"

"Height, perhaps, but not weight. All those henchman start to add a little padding, Beckett," James quipped.

Beckett spluttered staring at James. "And what on earth is that supposed to mean!"

James grinned. "Apparently even the dead can get fat."

Beckett narrowed his eyes. "I understood _that_ quite clearly, Norrington. What I meant was, how does my having underlings – such as yourself –contriubte to my suppsed weight gain?"

James started climbing, branch by branch smiling to himself as he went. "Well, Beckett, if I sat around in an office and let everyone else do my legwork, I'd imagine I'd look a little doughy too."

James was at the top of the tree now, sat on the boards they had found washed up on the eastern shore.

It had taken some time, and not a little arguing to decide which direction was which. They had found, after discovering James still wore his pocket watch, that in a 24 hour period the sun didn't change in the slightest. It was always directly above their heads at high noon, but with just enough cloud cover that it didn't really illuminate anything either.

It was a dreadful nuisance. Too dark to really see well and too light to sleep comfortably. So, they had come to decide that the Volcano, which was set at the very edge of one side of the island, was due north.

James thought it reminded him of a compass. The largest most obvious point was always indicative of North.

It was then, deciding the volcano was north, that they had decided to build their shelter as far from it as possible. So now, on the southern side of the island, James sat high in a dead tree on the remnants of an old rowboat. They certainly weren't the first ones here.

The shelter was sturdy enough for being built out of driftwood. James had dampened the wood and straightened each piece so as to accommodate their needs for a flat sleeping surface. There had been enough wood for a floor and one side, which he'd built facing the Volcano, just in case. Then, forcing Beckett to assist, at the threat of dragging his much smaller self, the two had collected dead branches for the remaining walls and used some of the longer grasses for a roof. It looked like the home of a savage rather than a shelter for two gentlemen. But one must learn to make due.

With the old boat they had found a few other odd supplies. A spyglass, a tarp, a flag so worn one couldn't pick out what the colors might have been, an old ink bottle, and a broken piece of a crate. Upon discovering these lucky finds, James had almost entertained the idea of fellow men on the island, that is, until Beckett had pointed out the half-buried hand of a skeleton, pointing toward the volcano.

They'd decided the skeleton would mark due east, and had left the bones in peace.

Now, Beckett stared up at James as the latter peered down through the opening they made on one side of the floor.

"Are you coming up, or do you need to be carried?" James quipped.

Beckett glared and started climbing. His shorter frame wasn't suited to climbing tall, dead trees, and he struggled to reach the opening. James had managed it in less than a minute with his long arms and legs to assist him.

When Beckett was close enough, James reached down through the hole to help him up.

Beckett swatted his hand away, and growled something obscene under his breath as he hauled himself up.

…

"I was right."

Beckett snapped a glare at the naval officer. "You were right about what," he snarled panting in his selected corner.

"You are out of shape!" James smirked at his companion and leaned back against the wall, propping his head on his folded arms.

"I could still strangle you in your sleep, Norrington."

"Ah, but we're dead, Beckett, I have nothing to fear!"

Beckett let out an exasperated huff and pulled the tarp they found over himself like a quilt. This left James with the flag to keep warm. Lovely.

James settled in for the night, listening to the win whistle through the shack and the grasses rustling dryly below them. He glanced at his companion wondering if he was the only one affected by the unsettling sounds.

"Norrington."

Ah, Beckett wasn't asleep then.

"Yes?"

"Stop staring, it's impossible to sleep."

James snorted. Of course the man would feel a stare!

"And Norrington!"

"What now!" James growled.

"You will build a ladder tomorrow."

It took a moment for the words to process in James' tired brain, but as he replayed Beckett's less-than-graceful ascension into the tree-house. It wasn't, he realized, because Beckett was lazy, but because he was short!

James chuckled to himself.

"NORRINGTON!"

James couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Yes?" he replied innocently.

"Laughing in purgatory is just as bad a smiling. Go to SLEEP."

James smirked to himself and shook his, head rolling over on one side. They still needed a food source –as his aching belly reminded him, and a steady source of fresh water, but for now they were well on their way to surviving purgatory.

He could only hope they fared better than Mr. Bones in the east.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey there! I decided I wanted to add another chapter to this! So while my aching ankle keeps me awake I present for your pleasure: CHAPTER TWO!<strong>

**I may or may not continue this further. It all depends on the amount of free time I have and the inspiration I get and the interest I receive from you readers! :D**

**Love you guys! Hope you enjoyed and please remember to review! I LOVE YOU ALL but it's so much easier to show the love if I have a review to reply to! ^_^**

**Have a good night, all!**


	3. Gentlemen Certainly Don't Pick Fights

Morning came, or James supposed it was morning, since he was awake and felt rested. It was truly impossible to tell time on this dreadful little island. The mountain loomed in the north and the pale sunlight always peeked through the foggy clouds that shrouded the whole island.

Beckett was still asleep, he noted, watching the rise and fall of his companion's shoulders. He huffed to himself as he made a mental checklist of the day's activities. It really wasn't all that different from his Navy days.

Their first priority was food and water. Then, they would have to make their shelter more accessible to them both. Well, mostly Beckett, but James was feeling generous at the moment.

Finally, he realized they would have to explore the island. They didn't know what half of the grey landmass held within its wilds. They could have more company than that of their skeletal friend and be completely unaware.

Struck by an idea James pulled a loose reed from the wall and quietly tore off a decent sized square from his flag-blanket. Smoothing the piece of fabric down on the wood floor he pulled the inkwell they'd recovered from the wreckage site and dipped the reed in. He was pleasantly surprised to find there was a good deal of ink left!

Slowly and with a steady hand he began to sketch out what he knew of the island. He marked the volcano in the north and drew a few non-descript squiggly lines down to where Mr. Bones lay pointing his skinless finger at the mountain. Then, he drew much clearer lines marking the shoreline down to their shelter which he marked with a large x. The rest he left blank, ready to be mapped in as they discovered more of their prison.

Indeed, it seemed to be a prison if it was anything at all. They couldn't leave. Their surroundings never changed. The grey dust and hard ground was little more welcoming than a town gaol.

Suddenly Beckett started, jerking upright and out of his slumber. "Bloody hell!"

James fixed him with a piercing look. "Have nightmares, Beckett?"

His companion offered him a withering look. "I wasn't, actually, but I certainly am NOW."

James rolled his eyes. "You seemed startled. Are the demons of purgatory coming to get you?"

Beckett turned slowly. "Actually, about that. I've had a thought."

"Congratulations, would you like a party thrown in your honor?"

"NORRINGTON!"

James sighed and put away his ink. "Alright, what is it?"

Beckett studied the map as he thought through his words. "Have you ever read Dante's Divine Comedy?"

James felt as though a thunderbolt struck him as he met Beckett's eyes. "Purgatorio?"

An air of seriousness fell over the little shelter. Beckett nodded once. "That mountain…is-"

"Mount Purgatory…" James finished for him, stunned he hadn't thought of it before.

Beckett nodded again. "Precisely. All we have to do is follow the path set in Purgatorio and we'll be free of this godforsaken place!"

James shook his head vehemently, clearing the heady clouds of hope before the overwhelmed him and caused him to do something stupid. "Suppose for a moment you're wrong! You're suggesting we traipse up the side of a volcano of unknown activity and hope that once we reach the top we're magically transported out of Purgatory! If you're wrong and that volcano blows there won't be any going back."

Beckett smirked. "What's the matter, Norrington? You scared? We're dead already, so what's the harm in a little risk? It's not as though we could die again."

James glared. "True, but how do you like the idea of spending the rest of your un-dead eternity looking like a piece of Beckett-shaped charcoal?"

Beckett sneered back. "Well what do you suggest we do? Sit around here until we decay and become part of the bloody scenery!?"

James felt agitated. "NO! I want to get out of here as badly as anyone, but I can't condone rushing up the side of a volcano hoping for some divine interference to save my life! So far the supernatural has not worked in my favor! Nor has it done so in your case! I suggest we wait and see what the island has in store. We search the island for food and water and treat this like any island excursion."

Beckett scoffed as he stood straightened his clothes. "Except for the fact that we're dead, we can't tell time, and we're really just marooned here with no resources and no hope for rescue. We know we're not alive, yet we don't appear to be properly dead. Where else do you think we are? Your imagination?!"

James stood too and cried out as he promptly smacked the top of his head on the low ceiling. "Bloody HELL! I know this is no earthly place! I'm not a fool, Beckett, but this scheme of yours is more reckless than you might imagine! Are you certain you read all of Purgatorio? If, on the off chance you are NOT wrong and that is Mount Purgatory standing in the north, we will have – according to the text – certain trials to face! Are you certain you will come out of this unscathed? The purpose of purgatory is to punish sinners so they will repent. Are you prepared to face you demons?"

Beckett floundered for an answer as James lowered himself through the hatch. "You didn't even stop to think about that did you, Beckett? No wonder you ended up dead," James sneered, his temper getting the best of him.

The moment his feet were on the ground he was stalking away. His long legs carried him quickly from their ramshackle shelter.

Beckett settled back in his seat thinking quietly to himself. He took a look at the map James had sketched and an idea struck him as he stared at the map. If he remembered Dante's story correctly there were two sinners who were trapped in the 'Ante-Purgatory' which could only mean the body of the island. If this really was the Purgatory from the story, there would be two men on this island. Men who could prove to the stuck up former-Admiral that James was wrong and he – Beckett, was right.

The former Lord smiled to himself as he snatched up the map, rolled it tightly in his fist and climbed painstakingly down the branched of the dead tree.

One doesn't simply pick a fight with Lord Beckett in Purgatory. It simply isn't done. He was certainly going to have to solve this problem post haste.

Once reaching the ground Beckett set off to the west, and unexplored side of the island, determined to find himself a sinner.

* * *

><p><strong>Hi all! I've decided what I'm doing with the story! Isn't it great?!<strong>

**If you're not aware Dante's works were written in the 1300's which were well before James and Beckett's time. It would have been considered a classic then and something gentlemen would have read. Basically the story is about Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven in its respective parts. I'm focusing mainly on the Purgatory one 'Purgatorio' (which is Latin). You can look it up on Wikipedia if you're unfamiliar with the information, but hopefully as the story progresses I'll be able to provide you with enough information that you won't need to look it up! :D**

**Please read and review and let me know what you think!  
><strong>

**Also, sorry it's a little short, but its 1:00am and I'm a little sleepy Heh.**

**OK That's all for now! Night night! **


	4. Gentlemen Do NOT Appreciate Destiny

Lord Beckett was never one to give up. Certainly not in front of a subordinate. Yet, as he tromped through the coarse brush, was pricked by nettles he found himself lamenting his rash decision to track down the sinners who should be waiting in the plains of Purgatory. . His belly ached, complaining that he hadn't eaten in…well only God knows how long. He had no water, and his feet were aching inside of his suddenly too hot boots.

He paused, for what seemed to be the hundredth time to pull the pricking nettles from his trousers and he wondered briefly what his sole companion had gone to. The dreary island wasn't terribly large, they were bound to run into one another sooner or later…hopefully.

Every crunch and crack set Beckett's teeth on edge. Seeking out the scum of the island was seeming more foolish by the second. Supposing he found one what was he going to do? Forcefully drag the filthy lout back to his camp? Certainly not! No common criminal would share a treehouse with Lord Cutler Beckett as long as he was-…dead?

"Blast it all," He cursed to himself as his boot sunk with a nasty squelch into a muddy patch. "Of course the only damp patch of land and I manage to sink my new boots into it."

Beckett yanked his foot out – or tried to. His foot, boot and all, remained stuck firmly in the mire, which upon closer inspection didn't seem all that wet after all. Panic struck the young lord like a thunderbolt and he renewed his efforts to extricate himself from the new peril. He grasped onto a little shrub and pulled with all his might.

As it would happen, Beckett's fear wasn't of dying, per se. Since, of course, he was already dead, but what the result would be should he find himself in a position where death would usually occur.

Norrington's words about the volcano eruption and turning them both into undead ash-piles came to mind and Beckett wondered vaguely, as he noted his leg was now buried up to the thigh, what undead horror this might make him. He held fast and prayed (for the first time in a very VERY long while) to whatever deity might receive his pleas.

"Not that we've had the best relationship, but I don't want to end up as a walking sand bag. So, if you don't mind, send that bloody officer along, preferably with a rope, and with his mouth stuck shut?"

Thunder grumbled through the sky menacingly.

"Alright! Alright! Just the rope then. He's going to be bloody impossible,"

The sky calmed and Beckett was left to muse on his position with nothing to entertain him but the insistent pull of the sand at his leg, as he tried to keep the other from suffering the same fate.

….

James Norrington wandered the shoreline. He was thoroughly fed up with his purgatorial companion. Indeed, he was well aware that they were in purgatory! That wasn't up for dispute. It was the mountain that had him worried – or rather, the volcano. Just because one depiction of purgatory had a mountain didn't mean all manifestations of the place would contain the same or even similar landmarks. The volcano could be just that: A mountainous lava spewing piece of rock. James, for one, desperately preferred having a corporeal body versus existing for the rest of eternity as a piece of charcoal.

He shuddered at the idea. As his aching belly reminded him, they could certainly feel pain and sensations in Purgatory. Burning up in lava certainly wasn't on his 'To-do' list.

Absently, James waded out into the shallows. He always had found comfort in the sea, and being technically dead didn't change his inclinations at all. He inhaled slowly and as he let the air out once more he pictured all of his troubles blowing away on the breeze. He closed his eyes and repeated the process until he had calmed.

He felt lighter, as though a weight had been moved from his shoulders. "It will all return tenfold once I find my companion, no doubt,"

"If you believe it to be so, then it will be."

James's eyes flew open at the sound of a new voice. It was like nothing he had ever heard before, living or dead. It was melodic and familiar almost like a song from his childhood, yet he knew it was foreign to him.

The sight which met his eyes when he turned toward the sound would stay with him until the end of eternity. An ethereal girl clothed in what almost appeared to be liquid silk draped across her form stood nearby atop the lapping waves. The water around her stilled, but her clothes moved slowly, mimicking the eddies and tides that should have moved at her feet. Her hair such a light shade James wondered if it was even a color known to man. Yet, the most wondrous thing about the girl, whose age he could not discern, were the wings which were half spread behind her. They were a pearlescent white and the soft feathers lay atop one another with the order and perfection of a painting.

James was lost for words, so he spat out the first thing that came to mind. "Admiral James L. Norrington of the East India Company and Royal Navy at your service miss," he said, glad his title slid out with practiced ease, though the 'miss' sounded a bit breathless and rushed.

She smiled at him, her luminous eyes growing bright. "Yes, James. I know you. The boy lost on the wrong path. I have been waiting for you to come. You aren't like the others, James…you're a good man who took several wrong turns. But here you are at last and your redemption has already begun."

James felt his guard go up. "I beg your pardon, miss, but I do no follow."

If possible her almost childlike glee increased. "Indeed you do, James. You just do not allow yourself to! Your life was lived as a good man. You deviated from your path by associating yourself with the company, but your last act in the mortal world is what earned you your place in Purgatory."

She gestured to the mountain as she caught his shocked expression. "Aha! So you didn't believe? Yes, young human, this is Purgatory and that is the mountain which appears, with great accuracy, in Dante's manuscript."

James took some offence at being called young. He was well into manhood and for all he could tell the winged girl couldn't be more than 18 years old, but he held his tongue as she continued.

"Both you and your companion, Cutler are redeemable or I would not have let you pass. If you can overcome the trials of the mountain your souls will be at peace," she said. And then, as though she'd been glad to be finished with a particularly boring bit of business she clapped her hands together and said brightly, "Any questions?"

James was quite lost. He had a suspicion, though. But it was hard for him to believe that this…girl was well…IT. "You…you are the guardian of Purgatory?" he asked slowly, an eyebrow slowly creeping up despite his every attempt to remain polite and…well…not his usual sarcastic self.

The girl fluttered her wings. "I am Lycina, the guardian!" She said, pride filing her voice as her wings arched up joyfully over her head.

James folded his arms. "I thought the guardian's name was Cato?" he asked before he could stop himself, skepticism lacing his tone.

She waved a hand. "He was the last guy. He's retired now, up...well…up _there_."

James glanced up. "How pleasant for him. I suppose the wings helped?" he said sardonically. As the shock of suddenly finding himself face to face with a winged young woman wore off, he found his ill humor returned quite acutely.

Lycina, who seemed quite oblivious to the undead officer's ire walked on the water's surface to the shore and joyfully dug her toes in the stone grey sand. "Well, yes. Climbing the mountain sounds so tedious. I do rather love my wings. They're new, though. Just got them this century! They take a little getting used to. At least they're not as long as Azrael's. His drag on the ground!"

James stared at the young woman incredulously. "You're not born...er…made with them attached?"

Lycina laughed. It was a music sound that sent a sense of calm trickling into James' heart – quite unwillingly mind you. "Of course not! Humans are so strange sometimes! They're as removable as your coat, Mister Norrington. It just…is a bit of a process to get them off. I can't do it alone – not that I'd want to! They mean I've moved up the ranks. I'm a full on angel now!"

He raised an eyebrow, suddenly quite interested in the feather contraptions protruding from the small woman's back. "You mean, they're a symbol of rank?"

She nodded, her shining hair bobbing in the air. "Yes! And an incredibly useful symbol too. IF I didn't have these I'd still be spirit shifting to get around and that's exhausting, let me tell you!"

James raise his brows but didn't comment. He certainly didn't know what Spirit Shifting was and he wasn't particularly curious. He felt the less he knew about the supernatural the better. His previous encounters with the less than earthly creature had only attested to that feeling. One lead to his resignation from the navy, another was his direct cause of death.

Yes, the supernatural was not for him, James decided.

"Was there something you needed, madam?" he said at last, watching her with a new wariness.

"Oh! Yes! I was here to tell you that you and your friend Cutler-"

"We're…not exactly friends," the former admiral interjected.

Lycina gave him a look, which silenced his protests. "The two of you have been given a second chance to redeem yourselves in the afterlife. There are many perils on this island. If I were you I'd get climbing, Admiral!"

James glanced at the looming rock on the other side of the island. "You want us to scale the outside of a volcano? What if it erupts?!"

Lycina laughed again. "Don't be silly! You climb up the inside! And it won't erupt. It's a gateway to Hell."

James felt his heart stop. Or, he experienced a similar sensation as he heart was no longer beating to begin with. "Oh. Yes. Nothing to fear, just a gateway to _Hell_ sitting innocently inside a volcano. I'm sure it will be a lovely, relaxing excursion.

The angel sniffed. "Well if you're going to be rude about it, I'm not sure I want to help you! If you'd only given me a chance I would have explained that gateways are different from passages. You of all people should know the difference, having spent so much of your time in those feeble little human fortresses you create."

James drew himself up. "Of course I know the difference. A gate blocks an entryway while a passage is…clear." He paused glancing down at her burning eyes. "The gateway is locked, then?"

She smiled then, and skipped around him in the sand, her wings extending a little to catch the air behind her. "In a sense. The gateway is seals so that no demons can come out, except the ones who are meant for your tests. They're minor demons, easily returned from whence they came if you know the trick. That's part of the test. Unfortunately, the gateway is also designed to let things _in_. If you fall, you will be trapped in Hell for eternity. That's the fate that awaits those who fail to pass the tests of purgatory."

James' eyes darkened. "Fantastic. So one good push from Beckett and I'm spending the rest of forever burning in a pit of fire while he tromps his insufferable little self up to heaven? Sounds peachy."

Lycina rolled her eyes. "You can't _fall _in or be pushed. You can only jump. A decent into Hell is from the choices you make not the actions of others. Besides. You are the first group to come since Dante himself. You must pass the tests together or not at all."

Just as James was about to fire off another snarky retort, thunder grumbled through the sky.

"Oh…OH dear!" Lycina suddenly placed her hands on his back and with a great flap of her wings she pushed him forward. "You must go save Cutler! He has entrapped himself! His greed will consume him! GO!"

James didn't know how the angel-girl knew, though he had his suspicions. But the terror in her voice was real. Anything that as bad enough to scare an Angel was enough for him. "Where?" he cried. The island was large! He wouldn't find cutler without knowing his route.

"Follow the light in the clouds! Go! You must defeat the mountain together! Your destinies were joined by the heart of a demon you must free him before it's too late! One without the other will not pass through the gates of heaven!" She beat her wings and James felt another strong push between his shoulder blades that sent him stumbling forward.

And without another thought he ran. He ran with his eyes trained on the foggy clouds above him. The white spec in the sky showed the way, like the North Star had done many a time during his life.

As he charged through the undergrowth he heard the Angels words in his head. _'__**Your**__ destinies were joined…' _She said it in a way that made him think. He'd made the mistake of believing his destiny was joined to someone once before…Pain lanced through his silent heart.

. '_Our destinies were intertwined, but never joined…'_ His last words had come back to haunt him.

As he stumbled through the coarse brush, his mind whirled wildly. He had learned as he lay dying on the deck of the Dutchman, that destiny did not mean love, nor did love mean it was destiny. Destiny was merely the plan of the higher powers.

And those powers had chosen his fate. Beckett was his partner in death and indeed, when he thought about it, every action he ever took lead him to the power hungry lord. Sparrow, who had been connected to the company before, the hurricane, The Heart….it had all lead to his service to Lord Cutler Beckett. But to what end?

Neither of them were righteous, good men. They were considered villains by most who knew them, James reflected with not a little pain. Why, then did the Powers of Heaven decide to throw them together, only to ensure their deaths soon thereafter? It didn't add up. It was as though, their destiny lay…beyond death itself?

James didn't know and didn't spare the energy to ponder. Instead he focused on his task of finding his companion of destiny and rescue him from being 'consumed by his greed'. Whatever that meant.

The former admiral did know one thing, though. Once he had extricated the lord from whatever power held his life…or rather death – in peril, he would be returning to the Guardian for some _real _answers.

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><p><strong>HI THERE, READERS! Did you miss me? Here's the next piece of Purgatory you! Please read and review so i know you liked it!<strong>

**Bye bye for now!**

**~Dolfin**


	5. Do Not Woo Angels or Invite Demons

When James finally stumbled across Beckett – and he quite _literally_ tripped over the man – it took all of his considerable control not stop and ogle at the frankly amusing situation.

Cutler Beckett was trapped, it would seem, in a sinkhole primarily made of gold dust. Dust so fine that it settled in every crack and crevice like flour. James imagined that a great deal of it had settled in the former lord's pockets, which was contributing to his distinctly downward progression.

"I could easily leave you to die, you know," James said after a moment, looking down at where Beckett was clinging for his life to a nearby shrub, gold dust in his hair.

"We can't die you dunderhead – we're in _purgatory," _Beckett snapped.

James sniffed and sat on a rock watching as the diminutive man tried to pull himself out. It really did change the urgency of a situation, this 'not dying' lark. He didn't really need to make any sort of sound decision until Beckett's head was at risk of disappearing.

As little as James believed Cutler deserved help of any kind, the Guardian had made it clear they had to make this journey together – or not at all. James didn't exactly relish the idea of being trapped in purgatory until the end of time because Beckett drowned himself in a gold dust-pit. As satisfying as it would be to watch, James knew he had to help before he lost sight of his new companion.

"You're lucky this time that I knew you were in trouble. I _warned you_ not to wander the island alone," James quipped. He _was_ going to save Beckett, he really was. But he couldn't pass up such a good opportunity to make the man's life miserable. Returning the favor, as it were.

"Yes, yes! I'm very grateful – now pull me out!" Beckett ordered. His voice was a touch higher than usual as the gold dust settled around his collar. He was barely keeping his head above the fine powder that was dragging him down into the depths of the island.

James stood, stretching leisurely. "What have I told you about giving orders? I am no longer your subordinate and I will never be again." He couldn't help but enjoy the panic in those once superior grey eyes.

Beckett cursed loudly. "_**Please**__ pull me the __**Hell **__out of here."_

James reached down just as the grains of gold dust were grazing Beckett's lower lip and heaved at his arm. "Interesting you should mention Hell…"

_He didn't budge. _

"What's wrong?! Why have you stopped pulling?!" Beckett cried.

James's face twisted in concentration and he braced his feet. Grasping both of Beckett's hands he hauled. He pulled and yanked and twisted. HE dug his heels into the hard-packed dirt and ground his teeth. Inch by inch Cutler Beckett rose from the pit. It took every ounce of James' strength to pull him even a few inches, but if he gave way –if he relaxed for an instant the gold would swallow his companion up once more.

Surprisingly, Beckett attempted to assist as well. He kicked his legs, buried as they were in the gold dust, trying to propel himself further out.

Finally, after what seemed to be hours of excruciating work, they both sat a great distance from the gold pit, gasping for breath.

"Consumed by your greed," James muttered to himself. He snorted. Angels certainly had a strange sense of humor. "I believe I understand now."

"Get _what_," Beckett snapped. He had been dusting gold powder off himself since hitting solid ground. IT was still in his hair and all over his clothes. James wondered briefly if he would ever be _truly_ skin-colored again.

"The Guardian…she told me you were going to be 'consumed by greed' and that I had to save you because we've been made partners by the Powers of Heaven," James deadpanned. There really wasn't any other way to say it. They were both accustomed enough to the supernatural, but angels and demons seemed to be a whole other level of life that James would prefer not to have anything to do with.

"The Guardian is a _she?" _Beckett snapped, pausing for a moment in his grooming.

James rolled his eyes. He supposed he should have expected something as narrow-minded as gender status to come tripping out of the man's mouth. His arrogance was the only thing that exceeded his calculating genius and it usually was the part that did the speaking.

"Do you have a _problem _with female Angels, Cutler Beckett?" The melodic voice of Lycina echoed across the clearing. She floated a few feet in the air her wings beating in agitation.

James smirked. Perfect timing.

Beckett looked her up and down, not even the slightest bit ashamed. "No, but I really don't see how you can defend anything. You're wearing a dress and you have no weapon."

Lycina harrumphed and landed. On the ground she stood nose to nose with Beckett, though her wings arched higher, almost to James' own height. "I'm not a soldier! I'm a guardian!" she snapped, her fair cheeks darkening with insult. "I let people in an out of Purgatory."

Beckett smirked at her. "You're a gatekeeper. How quaint," he said with a small sneer, before going back to cleansing yourself.

James glared at Beckett as he watched the Angel's wings droop. "Don't you have to keep out demons and such also? You're not _just_ a gatekeeper!"

Beckett laughed. "Always the gentleman, James. Trust me, this won't work out any better than Elizabeth. You seem to have a habit of reaching above your station."

James flushed red and scowled. _It wasn't like that at all! _But of course, Beckett had already decided what was happening. Arguing would be fruitless.

Lycina, however seemed oblivious. "Yes! I Do! Except there haven't been any demons since I started last millennium. The last guy sealed them in the mountain pretty good. – It shakes from time to time, but nothing ever gets out."

James turned, a new horror in his eyes. "You mean….the rumbling…is actually demons trying to escape?"

Lycina nodded, her curls bobbing up and down with her head. "Mhm!"

Beckett cursed. "So basically if that thing erupts it won't be lava, but the forces of HELL spewing out at us?"

The angel beamed. "Yup! That sounds about right! – Except that would never happen. My boss said he'd check the seal every few hundred years…-wait or was **I **supposed to check the seal? No, no I think it was him - ….wasn't it?" she turned to James wide eyed. "Am I supposed to be checking it?! Because...if I am we might have a little problem!"

James floundered. He'd never done very well with women…or feelings… "I...er…yes…perhaps you should check?"

The little angle dithered about in the sand, pacing back and forth tapping her head with her hand.

As she paced, trying to jog her memory, James felt the earth rumble beneath their feet. The sound was more ominous than before. Perhaps it was merely his new knowledge of what lie beneath their feet, but it definitely sounded…closer.

To the horror of the little group, the earth didn't stop it's trembling. James stumbled and sat on the rock next to Cutler to keep from toppling to the ground and Lycina let out a shriek and hopped into the air.

"Oh no…" Lycina whispered as a crack appeared in the mountainside.

"Bloody hell"

"Don't_ invite_ the demons, Beckett!"

"I don't think I need to…they're already here."

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**Hello everybody! I'm still alive! - barely.**

**Here's the next chapter for you just to prove I haven't forgotten you all! ^_^ It's getting a little more interesting now isn't it? I wasn't just going to copy the story of Dante's dramas! That would be boring and predictable! :3 **

**Let me know what you think okay?!**


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